


Keep Steve Rogers Out Of Kitchens

by Smart_Boy_Bucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, BAMF Bucky Barnes, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Steve Rogers is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smart_Boy_Bucky/pseuds/Smart_Boy_Bucky
Summary: This is the very first story I have ever written... at all. Thanks to the gorgeous Ellie (ellessey) for encouraging me to talk about my biscuit baking boys. And also, I honestly just put it up here because there's going to be fantastic art for it by the amazing Em (em_dibujsb)! So thank you too!This is completely un-betaed, any faults are my very own.So, I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos & comments would make my day!Thanks for reading, take care!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	Keep Steve Rogers Out Of Kitchens

Bucky is way beyond “Fond exasperation”, even way beyond “Mild annoyance”. No, Bucky can almost taste the bitterness of this strange mixture of rage and resentment which was a constant for decades in his mouth. It rarely happens nowadays, almost never. And especially never ever has Steve been the reason before. But this, here? This is the kitchen. _His_ kitchen. _Bucky's kitchen._

But before the taste is filling his mouth, before he gets consumed by something he hadn't had reason to feel for a very, very long time there are a lot of things happening at once. His nose is desperately trying to identify the multiple layers of scent fighting for dominance. The sharp tang of burnt something is almost drowning out everything else. But there is definitely vanilla, not the aroma, but from a vanilla pod. Nutmeg, hell yeah. And very, very faintly the freshness of something lemon-y. His ears are further attacked by a very hoarse and hiccup-y version of Bing Crosby's _White_ _Christmas_. Also the purring of a cat. Everything is … soothing, somehow. He almost allows himself to get back to Defcon Level “Fond exasperation”. But his eyes are the real problem here. Because he can see. Everything.

The kitchen looks... it looks like... Bucky imagines this is what New York might have looked like after the Chitauri attack. But, honestly, he thinks this might be worse. There were a fucking alien army, two gods with planet-sized family issues, a man in a can with PTSD bend on atoning for his sins, a hulking Hyde not really agreeing with the anger management of his soft-spoken Jekyll, a master sharp-shooter with a very loose sense of “serious situation”, a not-so-dead-yet and severely traumatized bombshell of a man with all the fury of a cornered cat, and Natasha. Putting Natasha aside (because Natasha doesn't make a mess, excuse me, Natasha was working, pffft!), Bucky makes some quick mental calculations, putting architecture, weaponry, civilians and military, and the shit fucking amazing flying dragon-worm thingies into the equation...

Nope. This. Here. Still worse.

Everything is everywhere. Nothing is where it belongs. Once edible preciosities are beyond recognition. The worst of these former valuables is the big disgusting lump in front of the counter trying to hide the small flicker of fear in his eyes with the falsest smile to ever false it's way into the world. Bucky doesn't smile back. He IS thinking about baring his teeth. But not in the smiley way. What he does though is settle on Defcon “Mild annoyance”. He still is fear inducing, but can have his fun with it. He likes this level a lot. So he just stares. And stares. And starts to remember a lot of shit. Damn smell and damn evolution!

Out of necessity and responsibility, Bucky was brought up to be tidy, to take care of his and his sisters' things, and to be thankful for having them. It was the same in the 107 th , but here the stakes were even higher. All his mathematical abilities meant jack shit if his rifle wasn't immaculately taken care of. The lives of the others depended on that. And the decades after that? Well, they sure as hell didn't allow him to become sloppy and lazy then. It was different, sure. But polishing Becca's only pair of boots or polishing away your fingerprints... what was the difference, eh?! Not that he would've remembered and realised it, mind you. But the point still stands: Bucky Barnes is a very tidy, sometimes even prim, person. (It also doesn't hurt when your brain is here and there that the rest of your life is in order, thank you very much!).

Steve Rogers is not a tidy person. Never was. Never will be. Oh, he tried to care for his things, sure he did. He always valued everything Sarah, later Bucky and the Barnses' gave him. It was just... his mind and his heart were always preoccupied with the well-being of others. How could one be afraid of ripped or bled on clothes while bullies were running the streets?! How could one care for using the last stub of the pencil while one was trying to show Bucky that he indeed was intoxicatingly beautiful?!

Steve took care of the world in general and his own, little Bucky-shaped world and Bucky took care of Steve and everyone he loved.

It was that simple. And that complicated. It _is_ that simple and that complicated.

Back then, they belonged together like... well, like people who belong together. Everybody saw. Most knew. Some felt sorry. Nobody said a word. Bucky and Steve. Steve and Bucky. Not allowed. Wrong. Sick. But bright, happy, pure, easy.

Today, they still belong together, but like people who once belonged together. Still everybody sees. Most know. Some feel sorry. Everybody and his uncle says a word. Bucky and Steve. Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Allowed. More okay than wrong. Still difficult. But there are sharp edges now, nightmares, guilt, terror, fear, doubts. Nothing is easy.

But of course it is worth fighting for. So they work. Hard. On themselves. On the “us”. Being brainwashed and frozen doesn't change the fact that they were always two highly intelligent kids, excelling in school and war. So they adapt to the new times, they talk, they listen, they try, they fail, they try anew, they build themselves, they build their home, they build their lives. They realise they deserve happiness and each other and that the one is part of the other, but not the all of it. They have different paces, often enough it's two steps ahead, one step back at different times.

Steve wants to go back to drawing at first. But somehow, somewhere, it lost it's meaning to him. Technically he's still very good, but the drawings seem cold and withdrawn. His heart is not in it. It is a very dark time. It is like getting Bucky back, but loosing another huge part of himself, of his past. Steve doesn't know what to do, where to turn, who he is. It feels like sinking and drowning and freezing all over again. But he takes all the help he can get, all the help he didn't want, all the help he didn't think he'd need and somehow it gets better. And he listens to Bucky who tells him who he was and who he thinks he is. And that is, what he becomes. An activist. A fighter for the minorities, the underdogs, the forgotten, the victims, the too small warriors against injustice in backstreet alleys. He turns his back on the United States of America and becomes the Shield for the people of the world. He goes from door to door, informing people of the importance of voting,

presses the last penny out of rich fucks to give to shelters for Trans kids while smiling for photos. He tours, and he cajoles, and he poses, and he smiles, and he builds and he cares, and he uses the image of the morally integer superhero the government fabricated to control him, against themselves. And he never ever felt better. And while he still doesn't draw, photography is indeed a very interesting thing to do in-between...

Bucky is afraid of a lot of things for a long time. But nothing scares the shit out of him as much as his hands. For almost six month he can't even look at them. His memories of building things, braiding his sisters' hairs, touching Steve's skin, are almost the last to come back to him. And they get inevitably replaced by memories about what he did with his hands in the war and after. After Steve is not able to draw any more, all Bucky wants is to cry and never to stop. They both did so many beautiful things, for themselves, for others, to each other, with these hands. And now they seem broken beyond repair. Not salvageable. But as always they come back for each other, they hold each other, they talk and they do whatever is necessary. So Bucky goes to art therapy (oh, the irony), learns to play the piano, gets a cat out of an animal shelter, grows plants and vegetables. And finally. Finally. After over a year, he allows himself to touch Steve. On purpose. Steve cried, of course. Always Bucky's proudest, greatest cheerleader – and, quite honestly, immensely touch starved. Steve had Bucky touched without end, sure, and the sex was still mindblowingly good ( _if_ a tiny teensy bit complicated... don't try this at home, kids!) but it just wasn't the same with Bucky accidentally doing yoga poses (without knowing any) just so not to touch Steve. So yeah, this was an immense breakthrough.

He gets a shit ton of tattoos with special ink, telling his story. His body is finally his again and he celebrates this with changing styles, haircuts, piercings, jewellery, what you can think of. For a while he thinks about working in a field where he can do good with his hands, like becoming a chef, a nurse or working at an animal shelter. But after a deafeningly silent session with his therapist he realises this would just be another way to try to reduce his guilt. And he relents. And starts studying astronautics. And is almost finishing his PhD right now.

So. Shit ass weird life. But happy. They're getting there. Together. That's all that matters. Steve taking care of the world in general and his own, little Bucky-shaped world and Bucky taking care of Steve and everyone he loved. (And okay, yeah, the astronauts going into space... so... broadening horizons, yeah for him!)

But. Sometimes. There. Are.

Moments.

“Are you having an existential crisis because you think I destroyed your kitchen? Or are you calculating the parable for the best way to jump at me and throttle the life out of me?” The tiny spark of fear is not completely gone, but the false smile has been replaced by that patented (in June 1929, to be exact, extremely short story: Steve was an asshole. The end.) aggravating smirk which could only ever be wiped away one way. And Bucky is so _not_ in the mood for letting Steve take the lead, thank you very much. Not after what he did to Bucky's beautiful, organised, lovingly decorated and searched together on flea-markets, kitchen.

“Oh, I know without a doubt that not even I, with my superior mathematical abilities, am able to calculate a _literary device_ to jump at you, stupid!”. Knowing Stevie for decades, Bucky knows exactly what is going to happen. And isn't that the kicker – it still turns him on, never ever gets boring. How he knows to predict Steve's steps, or to turn him into the direction he wants him to go, how he directs, cares, knows. And all because Steve lets him, allows him to, gives himself over. This is what they do, they know and they give and they get and this is who they are.

And as foreseen, here it comes: “You jump me _every_ time, _everywhere_ , with or without “literary devices”.” Bucky almost victory-snorts, but he's still on Level “M A”, so there is only one way to handle this. And isn't that what they both knew it would come to. Hell, yeah. Bring it on!

Can smirks wink? If so both Bucky and Steve would be world champions in this discipline. But in Stevie's case it doesn't deflect from his burning face, the wide blown pupils, and the wet, slightly open mouth. The music still plays somewhere, the cat is nowhere to be seen (oh, she is a smart one, of course!), and Steve is obviously still a dough-yolk-flour-couverture-unidentifiable-things smeared something. But if Bucky would care about Steve being smeared with things, he never would've gotten lucky. Depression-era back alley shit, mud-blood-gut-shit in the war, the filthy poisonous gag-inducing shores of the Potomac, Germany, Siberia – you name it, Stevie has lain down on, in and through it. Wakanda of course was the exception, not with Stevie laying down, but with there not being any awful things for Steve to roll in. But they were back in Brooklyn, in a room formerly known as _Bucky's kitchen_ and filthy Steve would pay his dues.

After this happy little detour of how often he already had to clean a very dirty Steve, Bucky slowly and deliberately pulls his arms up to open his bun, shakes his hair out a bit and re-tightens it. After, and again very deliberately, he puts a stray lock behind his ear and hugs his elbows with his hands. Crossing his legs at the ankles and leaning against the doorframe with one hip and his now pronounced arm and shoulder, he knows he is picture perfect.

A small bite to the lower lip, inclining the head against the doorframe, obviously but subtly playing with his long, strong fingers on his arms (poor Stevie would be a sucker for Bucky's hands 'til the end of the line – but who can find fault in that!) - and Bucky propels himself with his hip forward into the kitchen. Carefully avoiding the mess on the floor he manoeuvres his way over to Steve, who is still in front of the counter and not daring to move. Very lightly Bucky takes Steve's fingertips in his right hand, murmurs lowly “Turn.” and starts to lift their touching hands.

Steve blinks a couple of times (even the love of his life doesn't look very intelligent doing that, Bucky muses), almost reaching the colour of the Red Skull (aaaand we're not going _there_ , stupid brain, asshole) and finally turning around, not the slightest bit graceful like the ballerina pose might've suggested. Put Steve on a battlefield, into a fight, and he is a sight to behold. Put him into a situation where the pants get tight... well, Bucky would always be thankful to be a supersoldier, so that flailing limbs or else wouldn't really hurt him. The best day in the war was when Bucky achieved the impossible, letting Steve lose on the battlefield with barely any blood left in the rest of his body. Bucky always imagined this was what one of the mystical kraken of old crushing a couple of seamen must have looked like. Uncoordinated, mighty, blindly, and with a vengeance, Steve tore through the surprise attack, his mind solely focused on getting back to Bucky as soon as possible. The profoundly visible boner which was unanimously ignored by friend and foe alike was – in Bucky's book – one of the most romantic gestures he ever had the honour to be the receiving end of.

But as nice as this memory was (and fuck, how fucking amazing was it, that he could remember anything at all!), back to the job at hand. Steve was still turning slowly for Bucky's inspection and his back was in front of Bucky. Deftly Bucky put his left arm around Steve, pressing him forcefully against himself and holding him there, while their other arms were still lifted over their heads. While the different things on Steve's back (on the _back_ Stevie? Come _on_!) come into contact with Bucky's favourite button up at the moment, a dark green/dark blue Tartan, Bucky doesn't really mind at all. Holding Steve to him is still a high in of itself, a three way punch – to the mind, the heart and the crotch.

Meanwhile Steve is finally where he himself thinks he belongs and lets go. Leaning his head back on Bucky's shoulder, baring his throat, putting his weight onto Bucky, his breathing for the first time slowing down again, relaxing.

But Steve – again, smart kid, excellent tactician, trusting Bucky with all of himself – should have known better. He really, really should have. Bucky was a little shit since 19... breath, Stevie, breath! Yes, Bucky is licking and nibbling Steve's earlobe. Yes, he's telling him very articulate and in great detail (sooo _is_ Bucky using literary devices?) what he is going to do to Steve in the extremely near future. And yes, Bucky's right hand is letting go of Steve's, wandering down his body and coming to rest on this sensitive spot between hipbone and the fine trail of golden hair slightly interspersed with darker and sturdier ones.

And yes, Steve is finally and completely lost. And he knows it. And he knows that Bucky knows it. And it would always be like this. It was one thing to put Steve Rogers in a position where he couldn't fight back. A couple of people and/or beings achieved that and it was always a hard, long fight before. But it was altogether another thing to get him into a position where he _wouldn't_ fight back _willingly_. On the contrary. Where he would happily be open and vulnerable.

And there was only one being in everywhere where Steve Rogers felt the peace and freedom he so desperately looked for while simultaneously being completely bound and absolutely defenceless. And they couldn't love it more.

Seeing Steve this open and trusting always does a lot of things to Bucky. A primal, feral urge to protect, whatever the cost, is foremost on his mind. To care for, to coddle, to caress and to provide for, are also fighting to burst out. But all that doesn't mean that Bucky is not going to take his time, to have his fun and to let Steve suffer a little bit. After all, all this means _exactly_ that he is fulfilling Steve's needs and giving him what he wants.

A quick grip to Steve's dick, a strong twist and pull, while biting down hard on his neck, then licking the mark – and Bucky lets go of Steve and backs away towards the kitchen door.

“I think you should do your job, and clean my kitchen. And after that, you will let me do _my_ job, which means _I_ will clean _you_. So chop-chop, little grasshopper, there's no time like the present!”

And with that Bucky leaves the kitchen, mentally putting his personal defcon alert back on Level Zero “Smug Smug Smug”.

(a frigging fantastic Bucky by the amazing em_dibujsb)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the very first story I have ever written... at all. Thanks to the gorgeous Ellie (ellessey) for encouraging me to talk about my biscuit baking boys. And also, I honestly just put it up here because there's going to be fantastic art for it by the amazing Em (em_dibujsb)! So thank you too!  
> This is completely un-betaed, any faults are my very own.  
> So, I hope you enjoyed it! Kudos & comments would make my day!  
> Thanks for reading, take care!


End file.
